ression of
spirit to see him in such a state." Another attached friend, of whom I
have not yet made mention, accompanied him; and in the annals of
watchful and self-oblivious friendship there are few records more
touching than the one which links with the name of John Keats that of
Joseph Severn. Severn, two years older than Keats, had known him as far
back as 1813, being introduced by Mr. William Haslam. Keats was then
studying at Guy's Hospital, but none the less gave Severn "the complete
idea of a poet." The acquaintance does not seem to have proceeded far at
that date; but, through the intervention of Mr. Edward Holmes (author of
a "Life of Mozart," and "A Ramble among the Musicians of Germany") was
renewed whilst the poet was composing "Endymion"; and Severn may
probably have co-operated in some minor degree with Haydon in training
Keats to a perception of the great things in plastic art. In 1820
Severn, a student-painter at the Royal Academy, had won the gold medal
by his picture of The Cave of Despair, from Spenser, entitling him to
the expenses of a three years' stay in Italy, for advancement in his
art. He had an elegant gift in music, as well as in painting; and it is
a satisfaction to learn that at this period he had "great animal
spirits," for without these what he went through during the ensuing five
months would have been but too likely to break him down. I must make
room here for another letter from Keats, one addressed to his good
friend Brown, deeply pathetic, and serving to assuage whatever may have
been like "brass upon our palate" in the last-quoted letter to Fanny
Brawne.

"_Saturday, September 28._

"_Maria Crowther_, off Yarmouth, Isle of Wight.

"My dear Brown,--The time has not yet come for a _pleasant_
letter from me. I have delayed writing to you from time to time,
because I felt how impossible it was to enliven you with one
heartening hope of my recovery. This morning in bed the matter
struck me in a different manner. I thought I would write 'while I
was in some liking,' or I might become too ill to write at all,
and then, if the desire to have written should become strong, it
would be a great affliction to me. I have many more letters to
write, and I bless my stars that I have begun, for time seems to
press--this may be my best opportunity.

"We are in a calm, and I am easy enough this morning. If my
spirits seem too low you may in some degree